


Simon Versus Lady Vengeance

by runrarebit



Series: Misfits Moments [5]
Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: AU, Alternate Timeline, Angst, Because it's season 1 Simon and I know the writers tried to backtrack on that but we all saw it, Creepy!Simon, Drama, F/M, M/M, Pervert!Simon, Sally being Sally, Season1!Simon, Simon trying not to be a panty sniffer, Simon's weird and creepy sexual fantasies, Watersports, dead probation workers, kind of some rapey stuff too, not a funny fic, so what's the point in pretending otherwise?, watching gross porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 19:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18556090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runrarebit/pseuds/runrarebit
Summary: I almost called this Simon Versus the Sudden Tonal Shift- you know what I said about enjoying writing filthy, stupid, smutty fun after all the angst and drama? Forget that, because here we have angst and drama- and some filth and smut, but it's not really of the fun kind, more Simon being a bit of a creep. Or, to put it another way, Season 1 Simon.Anyway, this is a direct sequel toSimon Versus the Slutty Drunkand pretty much encompasses what happens in episode 5 of season 1 in this AU timeline.





	Simon Versus Lady Vengeance

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should **TRIGGER WARNING** for some gross porn Simon watches and rapey fantasies he has and then feels guilty about. Also, on a different note, the piss stuff. I don't know, it's Misfits fic. Maybe just be careful, yeah, and tell me if there's anything in particular you think I should **TRIGGER WARNING** for.
> 
> Also- the fic is not named after the Korean film or the perfume, I just like the way it sounds.
> 
> I hope at least one of you enjoys!

In some ways it’s lucky that his mother is— peculiar— the way she is. The way he thinks he might have sort of inherited. Or, to put it another way, when he wakes up soaking in Nathan’s piss he is glad for the first time in his life that his mother insists he still has a waterproof mattress protector on his bed— even though it’s been well over twelve years since the one time when they were kids and Matt drank too much coke when he was staying over and pissed the bed. Why do boys like to piss in his bed? Admittedly it’s only twice it’s happened, but with two different boys, both of whom he now realises he’d like to—

He knows it’s Nathan and not him, because is own bladder is a hard little ball low in his pelvis, and the front of his pyjamas aren’t damp, even though the hip lying on the mattress is. Like his bladder his cock is also hard, snuggled up nice and warm in the crack of Nathan’s arse. He idly wonders which part of it is touching the other man’s arsehole— only a couple of thin pieces of fabric between them. 

He feels— he doesn’t actually know what he feels, but he figures Nathan will wake up soon, so he’d probably best put off sorting out his emotions until later.

He does know that Nathan feels good in his arms. He hasn’t slept in the same bed as someone since that last disastrous time with Matt— Nathan feels very different to Matt though— and, admittedly, part of that is because when he slept beside Matt they were both kids and Nathan is a fully grown man, but Nathan is also slender and curvy in a way that Matt is not, if his casual— or not-so casual, he now realises— examinations of Matt’s body over the years are anything to go by. Slender and curvy and —he muses that the orange jumpsuit really does the Irishman no favours— imagine him walking around in something skin-tight— spandex, lycra, leather— his hard cock twitches. 

Nathan squirms in his arms, a little, breathy sound escaping those plump lips. The hand belonging to the arm he has slung around Nathan’s waist is damp, and for a terrible moment he has to fight down the urge to raise it to his mouth and suck on his fingers. No. Absolutely not. He is not going to be that sort of pervert— especially with Nathan still in the same room as him. In the same bed as him. In his arms—

And then, like he knew would happen, Nathan wakes up. 

It’s horrible. 

There is a lot of squawking and shrieking and him repeatedly telling the other boy ‘You pissed the bed,’ to all the questions about why he’s lying on damp sheets, and then there’s a bunch of denials, of course, and he just keeps repeating ‘You pissed the bed’— because he feels like this is important information to share; the situation they’ve awoken to find themselves in is not _his_ fault after all— until eventually Nathan launches himself out of said bed, staring down at himself with a look of nervous disgust, before actually _stripping off his sodden briefs and t-shirt with the wet patches until the Irishman is completely, perfectly naked_ and, just as he’s thinking _oh, he’s pretty all over_ Nathan grabs up his jeans and his jacket, dresses in a hurry, and then pretty much flees— ignoring everything he tries to say. 

Well. That’s that then. 

It could have been worse; Nathan could have gotten vicious instead of just running away.

Methodically he strips the bed to start the process of washing everything— and then there’s Nathan’s shirt and his briefs, on the floor, and after he’s got his sheets off the bed he find himself going over to them, looking down at them. The sodden, purply-grey fabric. He is not going to scoop those briefs up, raise them to his face, sniff any part of them, or put any part of them in his mouth. He is not. He is not. 

He is not. 

He is not a _pantysniffer._

He does not. But, admittedly, he does fondle the front of them a bit as he’s carrying them to the washer, and once it’s on he does lift his fingers to his nose, trying to sniff out the unique scent of Nathan, Nathan’s _cock,_ over the scent of piss— but those fingers do not then end up in his mouth. 

It’s about as much as he can hope for, honestly, knowing himself.

At least no one is around to see him.

He needs to get to the Community Centre; he is going to be late— but he can’t leave this mess for his mum to find if she comes home later. There will be questions— and not questions he wants to answer. So he putters around cleaning up —glad the duvet didn’t get soaked—and then cleaning himself up, but all the while— even once everything’s clean— he’s sure he can still smell Nathan in his space— and his mind flashes to the night before and all the offers the Irishman made— and a tiny tinge of regret starts to creep in. If Nathan was going to freak out either way why didn’t he just— No.

No.

It’s only as he’s walking up to the Community Centre that it all really sinks in. Nathan’s actions sink in. His own desires. The probable consequences—Fuck. Well. Fuck.

Nathan avoids him, all day. He kind of feels like avoiding Nathan right back. So they are in agreement— fuck.

Later he messages shygirl18 about it. Not the more dubious, perverted parts of it, not that it was a boy, Nathan, not anything about Nathan, but that someone he knows got drunk and hit on him and that it was embarrassing and hard to deal with. She asks him how he feels about what happened. He replies that he doesn’t know. She asks him what he thinks of the _girl_ now. He hesitates and then replies that he now thinks the _girl_ is lonely when before he thought she was just not very nice. And then shygirl18 says she has to go and that’s that for the night. 

He feels frustrated. So. Of course—

He doesn’t go looking for anything _weird,_ just tall and lanky twinks with dark, curly hair. Getting fucked. Big, fat cocks up them. Not too many shots of their faces contorted in pleasure— because they don’t look like Nathan— and a lot more shots of their arseholes. Arseholes before, during, and after having a cock— sometimes more than one cock— in them. He’s kind of disappointed so many of them are hairless down there— waxed— he knows Nathan isn’t. He likes the thought of it. Nathan’s hairy arsehole gaping like recently fucked cunt. 

It’s not like he’s proud of himself.

It doesn’t help that he dreams about Nathan’s legs— touching them, kissing them, that he wakes in the middle of the night and wanks, hard and furious, to the thought of sucking on the soft skin behind Nathan’s knee. And then— well, he’s almost back to sleep when the image of Nathan’s tattoos crosses his mind, those stars decorating the curve of his hip, and then he has another furious wank to the thought of painting them with his spunk, making his own little milky way to drip and ooze down into the nest of the other man’s pubic hair. He wishes he wasn’t like this. He’s not good when he’s obsessed with something. He tends to do stupid things. 

By the morning he thinks he’s managed to get a hold of himself again. It helps that Nathan is spectacularly horrible to him, worse even than usual, and it feels like every time he turns around he’s greeted with ‘pervert’ or ‘panty sniffer’ or ‘paedophile’ or even ‘melonfucker.’ He is reminded, viciously, of all the reasons he doesn’t like Nathan. All the reasons lurking around thinking about fingering him until he cums so much he pisses himself is a bad idea. 

Still, the lens of his camera seems to cling to the curves of Nathan’s body, that obscured waist, those lovely legs, the squeezable swell of his arse. 

He’s so distracted by the other man he almost argues with Sally. Imagine that. Kind, lovely, Sally— she calls Nathan a twat and he’s jumping to the other man’s defence before he can stop himself, telling her that Nathan’s lonely.

‘Lonely,’ she repeats, eyebrows rising almost to her hairline. 

He reiterates, voice firm, and then tells her that people aren’t always what they seem on the surface. It’s true after all, isn’t it?

After she’s finished staring at him like he’s lost his mind she asks him what he wants to do with his future, and it is good to talk about film editing, a thing he likes that doesn’t have to be creepy, and it all sounds so nice and normal and it almost makes him forget— well, everything. She even thinks she can find him some work experience— imagine that. Him with a job. A normal life. A path away from here and all the ways his life is going wrong. Maybe he could even end up a productive member of society instead of a— whatever he’s going end up. 

The way she acts though— it occurs to him that Sally might be lonely too. He’s lonely, Nathan’s lonely, Sally’s lonely— the only ones that aren’t lonely are probably Alisha and Curtis, and he envies them, he does. He’s always wanted that for himself, someone who likes him, someone he wants to spend time with, to talk to, someone that only has to look at him to be desperate to get his cock in them— or whatever it is Alisha and Curtis are up to. 

Nathan seems determined to pretend nothing happened. It’s probably for the best. He just hopes the transient fantasies of taking Nathan up on some of his offers that night stop soon. He doesn’t need to keep imagining what Nathan’s face looks like covered in his spunk every time the Irishman says something obnoxious— because Nathan is almost always saying something obnoxious, and he’s already had to creep off to have a very, very quiet wank in the loos a couple of times today. And Nathan’s gone back to flirting with Kelly. Of course. And that pisses him off and makes him cranky, which makes Nathan more obnoxious, so it’s probably best if he can convince the Irishman that they should just ignore each other for now. 

When Sally offers him a lift he starts to worry that she might actually be interested in him. Now, before this whole Nathan— experience— he would have been flattered. Probably would have been interested back. She’s older but she’s pretty enough, and smart, and she seems nice— and fairly normal. And pretty and smart and nice and normal describes exactly the kind of girl he’s always wanted to be attracted too— rarely is, because pretty and smart and nice and normal always seemed like it would also mean _would never let him do any of those things he thinks about doing when he wanks_ — but still, he thinks he would have been flattered into a sense of mutual attraction— girls aren’t generally interested in him after all— Now he just feels bad. Needs to work out how to let her down gently. 

He tries to ask shygirl18’s advice later, but she seems to misunderstand everything— and he thinks maybe she thinks he means Nathan when he’s talking about Sally, because he told her Sally’s lonely too— and when she asks if _he’s_ lonely and he says yes, she just encourages him to ask Sally out. He doesn’t really want to ask anyone out right now, but he doesn’t want to risk his friendship with her by outright rejecting her idea, so he just says he’ll think about it.

Then there’s that moment when it’s him and Nathan— and _Kelly_ — covering for Curtis, and it feels like everything’s going to be ok, that he can be one of them, their friend, friends with Nathan— but right after that the Irishman catches his eye, gets a funny expression on his face, and scurries off. It bothers him. He hates that it bothers him. He doesn’t want to be bothered by it—

He wants the old angry, resentful, indifference he used to feel back. 

He’s on his way home when Sally calls out to him. She says that he looks troubled and does he want to talk about it, and when all he can do is shrug and stare at her, no words coming to mind, she suggests they go out for a drink— just so he can talk without worrying about any of the others being able to overhear, if that’s the problem. _She’s his probation worker_ , she says, _she wants to help him._ Only he’s not quite sure that’s all there is to it.

It’s insane. Why is she—?

Why does he say yes? This is probably only going to encourage her in whatever feelings she’s developing for him. 

In the end they don’t even talk about what’s bothering him, because he sees Matt, and then he tells her about what happened— the first time talking about it since it happened, and she laughs but she doesn’t judge him, and for a moment he thinks, yes, he can do this. He can go out with a normal girl, date a normal girl, talk to a normal girl, develop feelings for a normal girl— and it feels good and he feels powerful leaving the bar hand in hand with her, strolling past Matt as if the other never even mattered to him— but he can’t kiss her once he’s walked her home. He just can’t make himself do it, and he hopes she’s not disappointed, and that she’s not hurt, and that she doesn’t think he’s too weird for the awkward handshake he gives her before trotting off home. 

And then he ruins any sense of himself as being a remotely ok person by wanking furiously over a vid of a blond twink that looks kind of like Matt getting gangbanged. Not even gangbanged nicely. Not that he’s sure there’s such a thing as a nice gangbang, but this isn’t even a _civil_ gangbang. It’s a nasty, spitting on, crying, choking, slapping, getting DPed while getting his throat fucked, cocks everywhere, the twink going all hazy eyed by the end of it kind of gangbang. A particularly _disrespectful_ gangbang. 

He feels bad straight after, the spunk still cooling on his hand. He tries to convince himself he didn’t just do what he did because he’s angry at Matt, but it doesn’t work. This is a part of himself that has always scared him. That he might— to _punish_ someone. Would he be able to live with himself after? He’s not sure.

Most of the time he tries not to watch that kind of vid— it can be hard sometimes, because they’ll have something he wants to see in them— like the double penetration, or the twink covered in all that spunk— but the cruelty of it tends to make him uncomfortable. Not even pretend uncomfortable, properly uncomfortable. In general he prefers his gross, weird porn to seem more enjoyable for everyone involved, but some of his gross, weird kinks seem to mainly show up in the kind of porn where pain or discomfort seem to be part of the point.

Maybe he should try to pursue Sally? Maybe if he was in a relationship, a nice, normal, relationship, he’d have the motivation to change himself. It would be good, wouldn’t it, to only be interested in vanilla things? To find the thought of some nice, vanilla sex satisfying enough— missionary position, maybe even with the lights off so he can’t _watch_ , and not after spending a good solid hour or so between her thighs, eating her out until she’s loopy and desperate for it, eating her out until she’s squirted or pissed or whatever it is all over him, fingers creeping into all her nooks and crannies, pulling back so he can _see_ her body pulse around his— 

Except his mind starts wandering to _Nathan_ and not Sally, imagining it’s _Nathan_ on his bed, _Nathan_ spread out for him, the taste of _Nathan’s_ arse lingering on his tongue— and there’d be none of this lights-out stuff. A body as pretty as Nathan’s is made to be admired. 

This second wank is slower, mind lingering on everything he saw, everything Nathan showed him. Lips, tongue, sleepy eyes, slender waist, the swell of his arse, the curves of his legs, those tattoos that seem to hug the shape of him, and Nathan naked, pretty little cock bouncing between his thighs as he’d pulled his jeans up so fast—

Then, when he gets to the Community Centre the next day he walks in on Kelly bellowing ‘For the last time, who the fuck’s Barry?!’ and Nathan making awkward faces and running off, and all that jealousy spikes in him again. _Who is Barry?_ He’d almost forgotten. Almost convinced himself it was _him_ that Nathan was hitting on, but it wasn’t. Nathan thought he was this Barry guy. So he decides he _will_ try to convince himself he’s interested in Sally.

Only when he tries to talk to her he ends up helping save Nathan from a baby with powers instead. Or maybe helping to save the baby from Nathan? He’s not sure. It never occurred to him before that a baby might end up with a power— that seems very reckless on the Universe’s behalf. It just worries him more, about the future, about what other people with powers might be out there, what their powers might be, and what might happen to all of them because of it. 

He would have ended up in a spiral of worry about it all, but then Sally wants to come around to his place to see some of the videos he’s made, except when he gets back with the coffee, she wants to leave almost immediately— and at this point he’s so confused. Confused by all of it. Sally’s running hot and cold, Nathan’s just _cold,_ his own feelings are all over the place and he wishes he could talk to someone— except the only person he can think of to mention (a highly redacted) version of it all to is shygirl18, and she now seems determined that he should get together with Sally— so, as per usual, he is once more entirely on his own. 

Fuck. He’s so lonely. 

And then the next day Sally’s all over him, hand on his face and everything, and then Curtis comes over all impressed and approving, and he thinks, yes. Yes he will definitely go for Sally. Fuck Nathan. He will go for Sally and he will learn to like vanilla sex with the lights-off because if Curtis Donovan thinks it’s a good idea— Curtis who has always exuded the kind of understated cool he would _kill_ to have— then it’s obviously a good idea.

It’s definitely a good idea. Especially since it looks like Nathan and Kelly might be getting together, her inviting him around for tea, Nathan making sure _he_ knows about it. He’s being warned off, he thinks. Nathan telling him to forget the way the Irishman was that night, forget his sluttiness, his promises, his loneliness, without having to say the words. It’s ok. He thinks it’s ok. It only hurts a little, but the hurt is soon soothed when he goes to say goodbye to Sally and—

Well, he’s now pretty that the reason she’s running hot and cold is because she’s worried about the ethics of her feelings for him as his probation worker, but that hardly matters, does it? All things considered. He’s not sure exactly how it happens, one moment he’s wondering if he should leave, give her space to work out her feelings, the next he’s fetching them both wine from the kitchen, and things very quickly become— she asks him whether he’s had a girlfriend, whether he’s had _sex,_ and of course he hasn’t, unless dry humping Matt’s arse in his sleep when they were kids counts, and he doesn’t think it does, and also it’s not the sort of thing you tell someone, is it? And then he’s kissing her.

It’s nice. Weird, but nice. Maybe not what he expected. He thinks if he was kissing Nathan there’d be a lot more tongue— also Nathan’s lips are fuller, softer looking. But it’s nice. It is— and then she wants him to get more wine.

Is he going to have sex? He thinks it’s very likely he’s going to have sex. He supposes on the couch at the Community Centre is less vanilla than in bed with the lights-out, so maybe she is a bit weird too. Maybe it won’t just be missionary position in the dark for the rest of his life. For a moment he can see this great and glorious shining future ahead of him. Girlfriend, satisfying yet relatively normal sex life, maybe a job in film editing—

Except—

When he gets back she’s gone. His phone’s gone.

He finds her in the bathroom, looking at that vid of Nathan yelping about killing their probation worker. He really should have deleted the thing, he thinks, numbly. Why didn’t he think to delete the thing? He was going to— 

She doesn’t listen to reason. She doesn’t give him his phone. She tries it on, all this seductive _you’re better than the rest of them_ crap, and he knows it’s crap now. She was never interested in him. This was all a game. A game so she could get evidence that they were involved in the disappearance of Tony. He feels like such a fool—And then she lets things slip he only told shygirl18. 

The sense of humiliation is almost unbearable. 

Did she really think he was so pathetic? So lonely? She turns all sweet, seductive, trying to get him to play her game, but he doesn’t want to. ‘Give me the phone!’ he demands, reaching for it. She keeps talking, moving the thing behind her back, ‘I mean it!’ he snaps at her, ‘Give it to me!’

He’s not sure what happens next. Somehow she gets a grip on his head and slams it against the edge of one of the basins, and while he’s reeling, stars behind his eyes, she runs off. He gives chase. At this point he doesn’t even want to scare her, humiliate her the way she’s tried to humiliate him, he just wants his bloody phone back. What will happen if she escapes with it? She’ll give it to the police. They could all go to prison— he doesn’t want to go to prison, and beyond not wanting to go to prison himself, the thought of long and lovely, slender and curvy _Nathan,_ Nathan with the plush lips and all the promises, and that terrible personality, and that inability to back down from danger, the thought of _him_ there with all those rough and cruel and sex-starved men— If he survived the place he would never be ok after, would he? 

He tackles her in the hall, sending them both to the ground. She starts blathering at him again, but this time he’s not interested, he doesn’t care to hear her words, her threats and promises, he just needs his phone— they scuffle for it for a while, her fighting back just as hard as he’s fighting, his head ringing from where it hit the basin, compounded by her punches. 

And then the phone goes skittering away and he goes after it, and all he can think to go is destroy it, so he stomps down hard once, twice, three times, four times, again and again— feeling it crack and shatter beneath his heel, before she lunges at him and knocks him down. 

‘No, no, no, no, no, no, no,’ he can hear as he gingerly gets to his feet, whirling around to find her squatting down beside the wreckage that was once his phone. Relief begins to flow through him, but then she’s saying, ‘Maybe they can still get the data off it, maybe they can—’ and she’s scooping the fragments of technology up. 

‘Stop it,’ he says. ‘Just give up. It’s gone.’

‘I _loved_ him,’ she wails, getting to her feet and storming over to him. She pushes him, hard, then starts pounding her fists against his chest. Furious. Frustrated. ‘I loved him. I was going to spend the rest of my life with him.’ 

‘He killed Gary, you know,’ he tells her as he tries to push her away. ‘We found him stuffed in a locker, blood everywhere. He tried to kill _us._ What were we supposed to do, just _let him_?’

‘No!’ she shakes her head, wildly. ‘No. I don’t believe you, I don’t believe you.’ She still pushing at him, hitting at him, and he’s sick of it, he keeps trying to push her away, and it’s not working, and she’s getting rougher and rougher so he does it, he pushes her as hard as he can and she skids on the wreckage of the phone and goes down hard, head _cracking_ against the tiles. He sees her body jerk, twitch, spasm. Hears a noise, a strange noise, come from deep inside her chest— and then she goes still.

He sinks down beside her, reaching out, afraid for a moment to touch—she doesn’t move again. She’s dead. He killed her.

He _killed_ her.


End file.
